FROM THE MOMENT Nick McCall walked into his boss’s office, he knew something was up.

Being a special agent for the FBI, he was an expert at both observing body language and reading between the lines, often gleaning all he needed to know from a carelessly chosen word or the subtlest of gestures. A skill that frequently came in handy.

Upon entering the room, he watched as Mike Davis, the special agent in charge of the Chicago field office, toyed with the sleeve of his venti Starbucks coffee cup (even he refused to drink the crap they had in the office)—a gesture many of the senior agents in the office had noted long ago. It was Davis’s tell, and Nick knew exactly what it meant.

Trouble.

Another long undercover job, he guessed. Not that working undercover bothered him—in fact, for the past few years, that was almost exclusively the type of investigation he’d handled. But having just finished a particularly grueling assignment, even he was ready for a break.

He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Davis’s desk, watching as his boss now twisted the sleeve around the base of the Starbucks cup. Shit, he was screwed. Everyone knew that twisting of the sleeve was even worse than sliding.

Nick saw no point in beating around the bush. “All right. Just lay it on me.”

Davis greeted him with a grin. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine. And welcome back. How I missed our pleasant chats while you were working on Fivestar.”

“Sorry. I’ll start over. It’s good to be back, sir. Thank you.”

“I assume you were able to find your office without too much trouble?” Davis asked dryly.

Nick got comfortable in his chair, letting the sarcasm bounce off him. True, while working on Operation Fivestar over the last six months, he hadn’t been in the office much. And it felt good to be back. Surprisingly, he realized that he had missed his chats with Davis. Sure, his boss could be prickly at times, but with all the crap he had to deal with as special agent in charge, this was to be expected.

“I wandered around the floor until I found a door with my name on it. Nobody’s kicked me out yet, so I figure I must be in the right place.” He looked Davis over. “You’re looking a little grayer around the temples there, boss.”

Davis grunted. “Spent the last six months of my life worrying that you’d screw up your investigation.”

Nick stretched out his legs in front of him. He didn’t screw up investigations. “Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?”

“Probably. You’re just better at covering it up than most.”

“That’s true. So you want to go ahead and give me the bad news?”

“You’re so convinced I’ve got something to tell you.” Davis feigned innocence as he gestured to his Starbucks cup. “Can’t a guy simply catch up over coffee with the top agent in his office?”

“Oh, so I’m your top agent now.”

“You’ve always been my top agent.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let Pallas hear you say that,” he said, referring to another agent in their office who’d recently been on a run with some very high-profile arrests.

“You and Pallas are both my top agents,” Davis said, as diplomatically as a mother who’d just been asked to name her favorite child.

“Nice save.”

“Actually, I wasn’t kidding about the catching up part. I heard the arrests last week got a little rough.”

Nick brushed this off. “That can happen with arrests. Funny enough, it’s typically not an experience that catches people at their best.”

Davis studied him through sharp gray eyes. “Coming off an undercover job is never easy, especially a rough one like Fivestar. Twenty-seven Chicago police officers charged with corruption is quite a coup. You did a great job, Nick. The director called me earlier this morning and told me to extend his personal congratulations to you.”

“I’m glad both you and the director are pleased.”

“I can’t help but think that the arrests might’ve struck a nerve, given your background.”

Nick wouldn’t necessarily say the case struck a nerve, although it was true: busting police officers wasn’t high on his list of fun things to do. Cop blood ran through his veins, after all—he was a former police officer himself, having worked vice for the NYPD for six years before applying to the FBI. His father had served on the New York Police Department for thirty years before retiring, and one of Nick’s brothers was a cop. But the twenty-seven police officers he had arrested last Friday had crossed the line. In his opinion, the fact that the bad guys happened to wear badges only made them less worthy of sympathy.

“They were dirty cops, Mike. I didn’t have any problem taking them down,” Nick said.

Davis seemed satisfied. “Good. Glad we got that out of the way. And I saw that you put in for some time off.”

“I’m heading back to New York for a few days to surprise my mother. She’s turning sixty this Sunday and my family’s having a big party.”

“When are you leaving?”

Nick sensed that this question was less casual than Davis’s tone would suggest. “Tonight. Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“What would you say if I asked you to consider postponing your trip a few days?”

“I’d say you obviously don’t know my mother. If I don’t get back home for this party, you’ll need a bulldozer to dig me out of the layers of guilt she’ll pile on me.”